A Salvage Job, Part One

America 1968. Everything was up for grabs. All passion and creativity seemed to gush from the counterculture. "Bliss was it in that dawn to be alive/But to be young was very heaven." I was young, 18, and enrolled as an undergraduate in the fourth year of the great experimental campus of the University of California at Santa Cruz. The spirit of the 60s was everywhere, in our music and our politics. and our firm belief that the Establishment promoting the war in Vietnam and threatening us with the coercion of the draft was so wrongheaded that it would have to collapse in its own excrement.

Out of this oppositional stew of radical politics, how did I, a thoroughly assimilated Jew with an identity I could barely point to, end up in a slide towards Israel? In this first part of "A Salvage Job," you will meet the barefooted young man dancing the hora in the picture above. It's his fault. 

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